


Forget Your Past

by TisJustAngle



Category: ENA - Joel G (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Middle School, Bullying, I cant decide whether to use humans or og form help, Serious Injuries, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-20 12:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30005169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TisJustAngle/pseuds/TisJustAngle
Summary: Inspired by Joel G's website, the first (probably ever?) Shepherd fanfiction. This follows her early life to explain why she is, how she is. The first chapter will be vague as I used it for a school project. More tags will be added as the story goes.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Slip-Ups

The cry of the crickets slowly died out as the sun illuminated the heavy number of crops. Smell of the dews from the vines flew in through the windows and always woke her up. She slowly opened up her eyes, her sclera glistening as she sat up on the edge of her small bed. Looking towards the open window, she fully took in the sweet, damp scent. Finally, she stood up and hastily put on her clothes.

As the closet door swung open with a loud creak, she grabbed at her usual buttoned up sweater and long skirt, both a gentle light brown. She rolled up the too-high sleeves and held the too-low skirt up with a small fabric tie. She glanced at the analog cat clock and swooped her belt in hand as she rushed out the room.

She fastened her orange belt to her skirt and ran out the door, syrniki in mouth and school bag on her shoulder. She could care less about stumbling on the ragged wooden boards, Father gave her instruction the night before. Turning the keys in the lock, she opened the shed door and reached out for her scythe, small enough for her to handle.

Swinging it was a talent only Mother had. She grew envious of her, and began copying what she saw, going from right to left, right to left. This barely cut any of their wheat. She kept swinging, hoping at least two handfuls of wheat stocks could appear. All this thrashing only proved useless and made her exhausted, breaking out into a sweat. Suddenly, her ears picked up the screeching of a school bus. She immediately picked up what she had cut and set it on the porch to dry and ran, nearly choking on the leftover chunks of syrniki in the back of her mouth.

As expected, she was late for school again.

Since she knew only basic English, she couldn't understand what her teacher was scolding her about. In her gut, she knew it was her tardiness, but it could've been about how she dressed, or how ugly she was. Maybe it was the cuts on her cheek and arms from falling on the way to school. Whatever it was, she was given a yellow slip and gestured to go out of the classroom, so she did. She backed up against the wall in the hallway and held the paper very close to her face. "Ohff…-eez?"

She had no idea what it was, but she didn't have time to wait around either. Instead, she walked around the bright halls and matched words with each other. It took nearly ten minutes for her to get to the front office. She opened the door and sat down in a cushioned chair, waiting for someone to come by. In the meantime, she took a pamphlet from a table and looked through it. "Een-gleesh, eezpanol...” she muttered. These were the only languages used in this school. She figured she was the only person in the school who spoke Russian.

"May I help you?" A voice rang out. She glanced up and held out the slip expectantly once she reached the desk. As the well-dressed woman took it and turned to her hefty computer, she rubbed her cheek gently. She flinched when the lousy blood clot pulled off and let the cut bleed again. The desk woman turned around to give her a tardy excuse when she noticed it as well.

"Do you need to visit the nurse?" She simply nodded only because she sounded nice. The lady pointed to the right, outside the office and to the ajar door across the hall. She walked over and was confronted by a man, more loosely clothed in white. Even though he was speaking to her, she walked to the counter and grabbed a few band-aids and walked away, shrugging over any other voices she heard but her own. She slapped on the band-aids roughly on her cheek and arms and found her way back to her classroom, distinctively decorated with bright colors that made her disgusted.

Once she was let in, she sat down right away and left the tardy excuse at the corner of her desk. The teacher swiped it up and handed her a spelling worksheet. But when she looked to her peers' desks, they all had different materials and assignments. Her teacher grumbled, "You need to work on your spelling," and left back to his desk. She stared blankly at the paper, seeing as the teacher already filled out the top lines. "Anastasia Chaban, 10-8-89"

Father and Mother knew English well enough to get by, but they never taught her as much. She was told she did not need to learn another language to work in the middle of nowhere. She trusted her parents more than anyone else, so she set her goals on those words. She had been passing by the bare minimum throughout grade school, and she was great at other things. She filled in whatever she knew and didn't try on any of the other lines, and instead drew the flowers back at Bah-ba's to pass the time.

The bell rang for lunch, and everyone stood up and shuffled out of classes. Before she could leave, her teacher pulled on her sweater to speak with her. She followed him to his desk and pulled a chair to sit down in front of him. He crossed his legs and leaned back, staring at her before speaking. "Anastasia, you are in the sixth grade now. You will not pass this school year if you don't get your act together. Understand?"

She did not. She already knew she was failing, what did he want from her? She couldn't do anything. But here he was, scolding with her name as if he were her parents. She felt uneasy and began shaking, clinging onto her skirt. Judging by how she looked down, he changed his tone and became harsher. "Tell me, do you?" Unfortunately, she knew what those words meant. Some of her previous teachers forced her to speak. The problem with this teacher was the military photos around his desk, depicting him as a young soldier. How would he react to her language?

She looked up for a small second to see his furrowed eyebrows and tense stare. Her pupils dilated and she felt like breaking the dam to her waterfall of tears. Without any other options, she squeaked out a small answer in her deep accent.

"Y-yez."


	2. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning of injuries. Anastasia finds herself in trouble.

She didn't like it when strangers talked to her like family. To see her fake superior become increasingly mad every moment he talked with her made her scared out of her wits. It didn't feel right. It will never feel right. Was he trying to pressure her? Make her trust him somehow? Maybe he wanted to see her cry. Unfortunate for him, as she was crying in another room he could never reach - the girls restroom.

She buried her shame and ugliness into the paper, thinking of what her parents would say. Their own daughter being a pussy and letting her feelings out into the bum towel. No, she was stronger than this. Her dark "skin" barely showed her tear residue, so she opened the stall door.

"There it is."

Confronted by two older girls, both much bigger than she was, her body froze. Their faces were split down the middle, the sides of their faces were shadowed, and their arms were crossed. Anastasia slowly backed up, her mind rushing with thoughts of being drowned. For a few seconds, the couple waited for a response, then one with frilly hair spoke up.

Her strong, rich voice echoed, "this is OUR stall. Get lost, crybaby."

Lost? She just wanted to go back home already.

Maybe she could.

She backed up only a few inches further and pushed her foot on the side of the toilet, dashing into the girl on the right. Then she pushed her away into the wall to boost herself into a sprint. Her bag dangled behind and tugged her, but she ignored it. She hated it here.

As she flew through the doors, she dodged all the teachers in her way. She ran into the empty road and passed by houses, making sure she didn't look back. That proved to be a terrible mistake.

Her bag was pulled with intense strength and she was knocked down to the pavement. Her head hit the ground and the strap was around her neck by now. She watched as they hovered over her, the curled hair girl being held by her otherwise feminine companion, wearing a messy skirt and clips in her dark hair.

When their mouths opened, she couldn't hear a thing. Not like she could comprehend it. Her head and chest ached, and she was thirsty. Her body was stiff and couldn't flinch when they got closer. Something was heading her way, but her eyes were not working. And for a few seconds, she could only see black, which then turned to red.

She could only feel her ears twitching from the painful ringing. It was loud and high, it couldn't be tuned out. She didn't know how long she laid there for. Was she dead? Did she not have to go to hell on Earth anymore? No more yelling? Her wishful thinking was interrupted by something wet and odorous. Her closed eyes picked up on the shadow of something to her right, and then from above her.

Someone held her shoulders and pushed her body upwards, and the pain that was once numb began jumping back in again. She let out a dry, pained grunt and opened her eyes slowly. There stood a man in a red robe and his pet dog. As she gradually began becoming aware, she wiped the slobber off her face and stared at it. Much of it was stained in a deep red.

Her eyes widened. She'd been attacked.

"¿Necesitas ayuda para llegar a casa?" The man spoke carefully and softly. Once again, she nodded. He began helping her up and making sure she could stand before taking her hand. As they were walking further down the road, she noticed he had taken her school bag to carry instead. Perhaps there were _real_ people in this world, she thought.

They walked at a slow and steady pace as she pointed where to go. It took almost an hour to get out of town, and another to finally get back to her family's farmland. He never said anything until they caught up to their wooden mailbox. 

As she was giving the dog a few quick pets, he took off her school bag and handed it to her. Once she got up, he parted a simple "Adiós," and headed back to town, the dog following behind him in tiny bounces. She waved even though he couldn't see and left to the porch where her parents were waiting.

Her mother stood up and shouted, "Анастасия! Ваши занятия еще не закончились! Что происходит? (Anastasia! Your classes haven't ended yet! What is going on?)"

She pointed to her bloody nose and bruises around her face. "Меня избили. (I was beaten.)"

"Я никогда раньше не видел этого человека, (I've never seen that man before,)" her father chimed in. "Кто он? (Who is he?)"

"Просто заботливый мужчина, увидевший истекающую кровью девушку на земле. (Simply a caring man who saw a girl on the ground bleeding.)"

They walked over to her and hurried her inside. She ended up in the hallway between her room and the bathroom, a wall behind her and her parents in front, blocking any escape from a stern scolding.

Boring things like "Он мог причинить тебе вред или похитить! Украдено у тебя! (He could have hurt you or kidnapped you! Stolen from you!)", Or "Тебе повезло, что и он тебя не тронул! (You are lucky he didn't touch you grossly either!)" Were things she would forget if she had listened anyway. As quiet does, she kept herself from talking back.

Afterwards, she was told to immediately take a shower and fix herself up before they would take her to the clinic sometime later. What they meant by later, she couldn't quite tell. It could've been tomorrow, and she yearned to feel better. She buttoned down her stained sweater as she stared at her face in the mirror of the bathroom.

Her cheeks swelled and pulsated ever so slightly as if it wanted to break out. The blood contrasted greatly with everything else. She suddenly realized her nose blood must've been rushing down her throat and choked on her own disgust. But her neck. It looked like her strap twisted and wringed it.

Once she stepped into the shower, the sharp droplets poked and scratched at her. Her open wounds stung immensely, but she had to do what she needed to. She rubbed gently around her face, trying to smudge off any stubborn blood trails. But when she looked at the drain, there was more blood than usual.

She felt her arms and legs.. no. She thought back before she blanked out on the ground. Her head. She recalled the ringing after that. Slowly, hesitantly, and quite nervously, she touched around the back of her head.

Her arms flew forward as she cried from her mouth and eyes. The pain that died down from there re-emerged, and her active nervous system sent spikes and chills throughout her entire body. She watched helplessly as her blurry hands shook, they wanted something to clench. She clawed at her body and limbs, hoping it would distract from the intense pain from her head injury. All this accomplished was more bleeding and pain.

_**Пожалуйста, Боже, освободи меня.** _


End file.
